


The End

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything they’ve been through together, after all the years they’ve fought side by side, and after all the time spent with only each other for company... </p>
<p>It was always going to end this way between two highly trained specialist soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a challenge on the Yahoo H/F group which asked for a story centred around the idea that Face and Hannibal are at odds while keeping in mind that Hannibal is a demolitions expert and Face is the team sniper.
> 
> Look: no warnings apply! But please do see the end notes if you'd like a bit more detail about this little piece.

Face simply can’t believe it’s come to this.

After everything they’ve been through together, after all the years they’ve fought side by side, and after all the time spent with only each other for company, as comrades and friends and lovers – how has it all come down to this moment?

He adjusts his grip on his weapon, settling it more comfortably against his shoulder as he shifts position slightly. His hands are sweating. It’s ridiculous: his hands never sweat when he’s armed, not once in all the long years since starting his sniper training, no matter how hot the temperature or how pressurised the situation.

Face has never lain in wait for the man he loves, though. Had never thought it would all come down to this one moment, with him lying prone at the attic window, weapon readied and loaded, just waiting for Hannibal to return.

He knows his wily lover will be expecting this from him, and that makes everything even more complicated, of course. Hannibal is the man with the plan, always has been, and he’ll know what Face has to do. He’ll probably have known since long before Face realised this was the only option left open to him.

Face blinks the nervous sweat from his eyes, flexing his trigger finger. No room for nerves, he reminds himself – it won’t be long now until Hannibal returns, and while Hannibal may know what Face is planning, he may not expect it so soon. Not here. Not in their own home. That’s Face’s only chance, keeping hold of that elusive element of surprise.

And here he comes; Hannibal’s car turns onto the drive and parks in front of the house, just beneath where Face lies in the shadows at the open window, ready and waiting.

The whole world seems to contract down around the two of them, falling silent and still. Face’s heartbeat is loud in his ears, but it remains steady and calm, and his focus narrows until all he can see is his target. It could only end like this. There is no place for emotion.

He trains his weapon on the driver’s side of the car and takes a deep, fortifying breath. His trigger finger itches as the door finally opens and Hannibal steps into view, his tall body unfolding slowly as he stretches his arms high above his head, turning slowly on the spot to survey first the garden, then the porch, then the driveway itself.

And though he hates himself for his weakness, Face hesitates, letting his gaze roam over the man he loves. It’s nothing but pure selfish indulgence, and a pause which he knows could cost him dearly, so he gives himself a mental shake. No emotion, not here and not now, and he braces himself again to take the shot – 

– Just as Hannibal looks directly up at the window where Face lies. His eyes are inscrutable behind dark sunglasses, but his smug grin speaks volumes.

Paralysed with sudden fear, Face can only watch as Hannibal reaches deliberately into his back pocket and pulls out what appears to be a remote control. The type of remote control he tends to prefer when he needs to trigger explosives from a distance.

All the tiny hairs rise slowly on the back of Face’s neck as he risks glancing away from his target for a split-second. Immediately, he spies the distinctive grey boxes attached to strategic points on the ceiling, including one directly above the window frame over his head.

A stupid, rookie mistake, not to have checked his position thoroughly. Face curses beneath his breath as he quickly gets back into position, Hannibal back in his sights once more and still smiling, though the Colonel’s smile is softer now, more understanding.

Hannibal nods, once, as if he expects nothing less from Face, and presses the button at the very same moment Face finally squeezes the trigger.

And time seems to stand still.

* * *

It seems inevitable that it would eventually come to this between the two of them, though Hannibal somehow can’t help wishing that they could have found another way. Things really had gotten out of hand very quickly and quite spectacularly, and at this point there is no possible way back.

From the very start, of course, he’s known in his heart what Face would ultimately choose to do. He knew and understood exactly what decision his brilliant, brave, talented lover would take, and he also knew, naturally, what his own countermove would have to be.

He can feel Face’s sharp sniper’s eyes on him the moment he turns his car into the driveway, and he smiles to himself briefly before finding his focus. Today, then, is to be the day.

Today this particular war ends, once and for all.

Inevitable, really, after all they’ve been through. After Hannibal spent so many years training Face up, falling in love with him as they lived and fought side by side, marvelling as Face somehow fell in love with him in return.

It should hurt, knowing that Face is now watching him like a hunter watches his prey, but instead Hannibal feels a deep sense of pride. Pride that he’s trained Face well enough to take this step, so confident in his ability to make these decisions, even if he’ll always be one step behind Hannibal.

Face clearly believes he’s managed to catch Hannibal off-guard, though of course Hannibal saw this coming from a mile away, telegraphed in a thousand little signs from the man he knows almost as well as he knows himself. He’s had the time to arrange what needed to be arranged, fighting to keep the emotions buried deep, and focussing on the precision of his work.

It’s always been inevitable, he tells himself again, taking one final deep breath before climbing out of his car. He can practically feel Face’s watchful gaze burning through him, and his skin itches in anticipation as he fights the instinct to take immediate cover.

But Face isn’t the type to just shoot on sight, not in this situation. He’ll take a few seconds, to be sure his attack hasn’t been anticipated, and make himself certain in his own mind. That ability is one of the many things that make him one of the best snipers in the entire US military. 

So Hannibal takes his own few seconds, turning slowly, putting on a little show for his boy. He continues to feel that tightly focused gaze on him, and eventually he stops, looking directly up at the attic window where he knows his lover lies hidden, keeping Hannibal squarely in his sights.

He grins up at the window, surprised by how natural it feels, and reaches for the remote control tucked in his back pocket, careful to telegraph his actions in case he pushes Face into taking early action.

It’s a good feeling, to still be able to surprise his lieutenant after all these years. Hannibal can’t see Face for the shadows, even through the open window – his boy always did know how to choose the perfect spot – but he will be frantically checking the attic around him now, belatedly, discovering Hannibal’s little ‘gifts’.

He nods up at his unseen opponent, in silent acknowledgement that this is the moment, for both of them. They’ve played the game well, and it was always going to end this way between two highly trained specialist soldiers.

And Hannibal presses the button, knowing Face will be squeezing the trigger on his chosen weapon. 

Together. It ends together, with no winners and certainly no losers.

* * *

The confetti cannons and indoor fireworks make an impressive and surprisingly loud noise as they are triggered, and one man is immediately coated in glitter and hidden in smoke even as the attic around him lights up with bright flashes of rainbow colours.

The man has enough presence of mind to keep his aim true even though he does bark a shout of surprise, coughing slightly and blinking glitter from his eyes as he holds his weapon steady.

The foam and water super-soaker in his arms has a powerful and impressive range, especially since he’s hooked it up to a hosepipe, and of course he’s added a little something extra of his own – a bright orange dye that will stain the skin of his opponent and take weeks to fade away completely. The man outside is actually knocked off his feet by the unexpected force, spluttering and cursing as he gets a mouthful of foam, soaked from head to toe and no longer able to see out of his sunglasses. 

The remote control, having served its function, falls forgotten to the ground only to be driven beneath the car by the ongoing force of the water and foam, while the fireworks it triggered continue to light up the attic above.

Inside the house, safely away from fireworks and foam and glitter and dye, two other men merely exchange a single glance when they hear the shouts and muffled explosions, before shaking their heads in obvious resignation.

“I said that damn prank war was getting out of hand,” one comments with a sigh, turning back to his newspaper and folding it to the sports pages. “Think those two fools have actually managed to kill each other this time?”

The second man just adjusts his baseball cap and continues to carefully glue a wing onto his half-built model plane. “Part of me thinks we should go check on them,” he says thoughtfully, in lieu of a direct answer. “But the rest of me thinks they both deserve whatever they’ve done to each other.”

More shouting and cursing, then another loud explosion, and the first man mutters, “I swear, if they bring their mess in here, I’ll end their games once and for all.”

“I guess that’s what happens when a sniper and a demolitions expert get bored.” And the two of them exchange another glance before they both collapse into giggles, while from outside and upstairs the shouts and muffled explosions continue to fill the afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> In spite of what you might assume from the title, Hannibal and Face aren't really trying to kill each other here: this is just a prank war taken to extremes by two bored and highly trained soldiers.


End file.
